The night shimmers and glimmers as the stars pile up like cinders, alongside my dormitory’s casement.

And the trees of the thicket, carry sounds of the cricket, as they “chirpâÂ?¦ chirp, chirp,” their minds to absence.

And should we loose our brain, do we loose our name, or our thought, or our core, or wonderment.

Or like the moon would our souls persist to prance, quenching for an auspicious circumstance of devoted ardor attachment.

From inside my domicile of cement, I persist to lament over my lost beloved of content.

And yet no matter the situation, I continue my lamentation over an appellation of foreign descent.

As to why you may say, and to explain I wish another way, but in my utter words, my thoughts did not remain permanent..

And the idea of forgetting such a designation ruins my contemplation, as the moniker fades like the stars of the firmament.

Maybe in a name there is more, something beneath its outer core, which draws me to its ordainment.

For it may be the entity behind the title that is alluring me all the while it perseveres to be super salient.

It is much like the moon, as it is only in need for clarification, and sets the ramifications of how it is perceived.

And while it may intrigue, it is perhaps meant, that it be a quench for an auspicious circumstance of devoted ardor attachment.

Thus the entity behind the name, put other matrons to shame, for its ostentatious display is not lame or unintelligent.

And it we shall all come to know as a beloved angel, as its head glows where there lies her halo of astonishment.

Yet further we shall go, deeper into her soul, as we shall explore and behold her unceasing characteristics and achievements.

Surpassing its mystery, and hearing its call to me, I come to see its vitality lie in the body of a feminine casement.

And here it be, this entity, with a name not long forgotten, that in such despair has gone into thin air with concealment.

How I wish to be with it, with her, and her everlasting spur that occurs with regularity and steadfastness.

For her wishes, so dire, set my soul a fire, and make me desire a relationship prior to her bereavement.

Enclosed in my arms is where she’d be placed, with her warm hands about my face and her lap about my base for fulfillment.

How I miss the sensation, of the sound of her appellation, and damn this nation for her heavenly internment.

But the time will land, when we will join hands, for the sake of her and a man who wants to experience an agreement.

An agreement of passion, not held back in rations, yet given out of satisfaction for the loved one’s effervescence.

But in this long stint, of my wonderment, of this grand appellation, it is perhaps well meant, that I must quench for an auspicious circumstance of devoted ardor attachment.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

× 4 = sixteen